


Certain Cats are rare and beautiful.

by LokiBitch07



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, And angst, Cat Ears, Cat!people, Galaxies, Kidnapping, M/M, SO MUCH ANGST!, Slavery, Spaceships, alien adbuction, but happy end....at the end, cat!Sherlock, cat!john, cat!lock, different cultures and planets, loads of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiBitch07/pseuds/LokiBitch07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small tribe of cats live on a planet far beyond the traditional trading routes of the star-empires, and are therefore fully cut off from the rest of the universe.<br/>Their existance is a peacefull one.<br/>The peace is disrupted when a pirate-slaver ship descends on the small planet.<br/>John and Sherlock are taken, tagged and caged, to be sold to other beings far away from their home.</p>
<p>This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A cat called Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to God I am not even sure where any of these things came from.  
> And there is so much fluff!  
> Also, my first fic that I am not writing for smut reasons. What is happening to me?  
> I am getting soft.  
> (Even though, of course there will be loving Johnlock sex later. Promise)
> 
> Also, please remember, comments and kudos are love and they keep every artist going.  
> The plot is mostly set up all the way to the end, so yay to me. 
> 
>  
> 
> x

When he woke, the first thing he realized was, that it was too early.  
The 2nd sun had hardly started to rise and the forest would not come to life before the fourth would peek over the horizon.  
There was still one of the moons high in the sky, for Love's sake. 

Sherlock whined and turned, shifting in his nest, lazily glimpsing over the edge down into the valley far beneath him.  
He could see the thin columns of smoke from last nights fire's curling towards the sky, and he caught a glimpse of Anderson as he trailed through the village, the spear at his side, looking over his tribe. 

Sherlock yawned, pink tongue curling as he stretched, black ears laying down on his head as he bowed his back up towards the sky, sharp silvery nails protruding from the tips of his fingers.  
He tried curling up one more, but he soon realized that it was to no avail. 

He was awake. 

Fine. 

With another yawn he rose to all fours carefully, aware that he was high up between the trees, his nest wound from large fern leaves and twigs shifting underneath him. Sherlock had twisted it together last night in less time than it had taken for the first moon to rise over the tree tops, but it was as stable as he needed it to be for one night.  
Sherlock shook his head, lazily scratching himself behind his left ear, then he carefully peeled himself out of his nest and balanced on top of the thick branch beneath him.  
He had been restless again these last couple of days, choosing not to rest with his clan but to nest by himself, high up in the trees and far from anybody's reach. 

He stayed close to the camp these days, remembering times as a youngster when he used to wander off, sleeping close to the ground, more than once having to fend off a dangerous beast or coming too close to another tribe's territory.  
Him, as a single male, not all tribes were uneager to have him join their ranks, mainly to enlarge numbers that had been cropped by others wandering or territorial fights.  
By the Darkness. 

The last time Jim and Sebby had gotten their hands on him they had kept him for a fortnight, and he had not been sure whether he would be allowed to leave.  
No, Sherlock did not strain too far anymore. 

So now he was stuck to the two-day radius around the camp, and it made him restless. 

 

 

With another stretch Sherlock made his way down back to the the ground, careful as the leechen-riddled trunk was slippery due to the early hour, using his claws to anchor himself to the thick, purple bark. He had chosen one of his favorite trees, old, majestic and very tall from which he had a fine view over the complete valley and his tribe and even a little further to the forbidden city. 

When he was in his restless phase as he was now, he liked being able to see everything around him and then he would climb high, to stay awake long into the night, watching the moons rise and wander across the sky, see the lights of the fires beneath him of his own clan and far behind him he could sometimes even get a glimpse of Jim's tribe's cooking hearths.

It eased his heart, if just a little. 

His black paw touched the cool ground and Sherlock let go of the thick trunk, giving it another loving stroke before he made his way back to the hearth to fetch himself some fresh water. 

Sherlock was a master at moving silently through the bushes which would have made him an excellent huntsman, if he ever would have bothered.  
This way he was able to get rather close to Anderson, and it made him smirk when the other jumped and hissed at his sight, when he suddenly stood close to the large, dying fire, pieces of leaves clinging to his curls.

“Sherlock! May the Gods smite you, sneaking up on me like that! I could have speared you, you stupid freak!”

The dirty-brown hair on Anderson's head and trailing down his back stood up, rigidly, and his ears were pressed down close to his head, feet wide in a defensive position.  
However, no matter how annoyed Anderson may have been or how thick his tail had fluffed itself in anger, he still kept his voice to a whisper, careful not to wake the others still sleeping. 

Sherlock just grinned, one of his ears twitching in amusement, and without bothering to answer he strolled on to the water barrels, happy that he had been able to unnerve the other. The first time he had tried the same, years back, Anderson had let out a howl and almost speared him in the side, but it had been worth the commotion that had followed and even the tongue lashing his elder brother had released upon him. 

Reaching the barrels he took one of the wooden bowls that lay at the side and scooped up the fresh water, bringing it up to his face, lapping at the cool refreshment. When he had his share he tipped out the rest and put the bowl back in place. 

Now what?

A quick glance to John's hut confirmed to him that the healer was still resting, probably in the arms of his lover Mary who was currently pregnant with her second litter.  
Even though no one could ever tell whom the Gods would bless with kittens, John had taken Mary to his bed for years now, and he was proud that the Goddess of Fertility was smiling on his mate.  
Sherlock let out a low, grumbling sound under his breath, resisting the urge to sneak into the tent and cuddle against his friends, knowing full well that it would earn him a slap and a scolding, and he was not in the mood for either.  
Also, Mary's litter had been giving her a hard time of late and she was growing large, and while he enjoyed grooming her and smelling the new aromas her pregnancy brought along, he knew that she needed all the rest she could get. 

 

Sherlock took another look at the sky, realizing that it would take another couple of turns of the smallest moon until his tribe would rise. He would have enough time for a bath and maybe even a long run without anybody noticing.  
His tail twitched anxiously, and Sherlock wondered if John would have time to mate with him tonight.  
It always helped when he was in this strange mood, and John was his only lover in his own clan, which was rare but not unheard of. 

He wandered past the fire, grinning at Anderson who now ignored him and made his way back into the woods where he started to run.The forest was thick as he ducked and jumped, leaping over the bright pink snapping flowers that grew in large batches, taking sharp turns around the purple and blue tree giants and ducking under the large blue and green ferns that were sticky on the underside if one got too close. 

It did not take him long to reach the creek. 

It was his favorite bathing point, a stream hidden well out of sight running under an array of large, blue rocks that were starting to sparkle under the rays of the third rising sun. Even though the black cat would never admit it, he loved the way the almost see-through stones reflected the suns rays and turned the stream itself into an almost holy place, similar to where his tribe would worship the gods.  
Once or twice John had taken him close to the water, rutting into Sherlock until he mewled, which probably was part of his attachment to he area. 

Also, it was one of the few cool streams surrounding the village and therefore favored by very few, most of the cats preferring the warmth of the red streams farther to the east.  
He had the place all to himself. 

 

At least, most of the time. 

 

He smiled when he heard the faint rustling of the ferns behind him, having been aware of the kitten that had followed him all the way from the camp, the young one still learning to stalk and make his way silently through the forest, but still not skilled enough to do so.

Not yet. 

Especially when it came to Sherlock. 

Still, he pretended not to hear when Hamish came close, and he let out a fake yelp of surprise when the kitten finally decided to charge, relocating his center of gravity when the small bundle of furs hit him, falling into the water with a loud splash.  
The water was cold as the glacier that fed it in the mountains and it punched the air out of Sherlock's lungs when he hit it, sinking down for a moment before he stood in the hip-deep water, gasping.

He turned quickly and snatched at the legs of young Hamish who was still standing at the side of the stream, reaching for the brown, curly tail and giving it a short tug, pulling the kitten into the water with him. 

Hamish let out a scream of glee as he fell in, joining Sherlock, and the short arms instinctively wrapped around the tall cat for stabilization, leaning close.  
Sherlock held him for a moment and pulled him down with him into the water and soaking both of them in the cool wet, laughing at the yelps and hisses when they resurfaced again. 

They both snapped for breath, the kitten wrapped tightly around his chest.  
The younger one turned towards him, a large grin spreading his fur-covered features. 

“I got you, uncle Sherlock, did I not? I got you!”

The black cat let go of the kitten, smiling as eldest of Mary's first litter paddled around him, watching as he climbed back on the banks of the stream. 

“You sure did, Hamish! You are getting better every day!”

Sherlock smiled as the kitten's face lit up, his whiskers shivering in pride.  
For a moment he could see John's face in Hamish features, but he suppressed the thought as quickly as it came.  
Everyone knew that kittens were gifts of the Goddess, and John, being always so close to Mary, may have been able to spread some of his essence to his lover. He was glad for him. 

“Now come here and let me help you wash, or your mewma will give both of us a tongue-lashing!”

The small one's face fell, if just for a second, but then he jumped back into the ice-cold stream with a shout of glee, hitting Sherlock in the side, tumbling both of them back in the water. 

“Are you going to take me to the forbidden city later today, uncle Sherlock, please?”

The small face was eager, large eyes black and fixed upon the taller cat, but they darkened with disappointment when Sherlock shook his head. 

“You are too young still, Hamish. Mewma Mary would make me eat my own tail if I even dared to take you in the general direction! It's dangerous there, and not a place favored by the Gods, don't you remember?”

Hamish whined a little, whiskers shivering.

“But you go there, everybody knows it!”

Sherlock tilted his head. 

“Well, but I am not favored by the Gods, now am I?”

When the kitten wanted to speak up once more, the larger cat shook his head, making it clear that the discussion was over.  
“Now come here you, you are as filthy as a wolf!”

Sherlock gave Hamish a quick scrub, using the fine pebbles and grains from the bottom of the creek to reach through the thick fur, but soon the kitten squirmed and whined, and Sherlock let him go.  
It was better for the young one to be back at Mary's side soon anyway, her pregnancy made her even more maternal than usual, and she would worry if her eldest son was away when she woke. 

 

It also gave him the peace he needed to groom himself.


	2. A lover called John

While Sherlock was not one who cared too much about his looks unlike some of the others cats of his clan, it was in his nature to bathe regularly, and John liked the taste of the creek-water and sun on his fur. As he washed he imagined his lover's hands gliding over his body, pulling at his curly hair as he growled into his ear, possessive yet gentle, just the way Sherlock liked it. 

His hair was clinging to his scalp already after the tumble with Hamish, and he quickly discovered the soap root that grew on the side of the stream.  
The long stalks of the flower were thick and hairy, topped by large bright orange blossoms that usually attracted loads of insects with it's strong, sweet pollen.  
Sherlock bend over one, slicing his sharp claws along the stalk, collecting the thick yellow substance that oozed forth.  
The smell was strong and sweet, and it was perfect for removing grease and dirt. 

Sherlock moved back into the middle of the creek, finding himself a spot that was riddled with red, yellow and orange rays of the suns, for a moment bathing in the welcome heat in contrast to the freezing water.  
Slowly he closed his eyes, suppressing the shivering energy that cursed through him, and he imagined John. 

John  
His golden lion.  
So strong, so smart.  
And so in love with Sherlock. 

The black cat sighed happily and lifted his hands, cupping the fingers around the soapy liquid as he raised them, opening them, spreading the sap over his wet curls.  
His ears were pressed flat against his head, to keep the soap out, and he avoided them in favor of his hair, digging his fingers down onto his scalp. 

Sherlock groaned. 

He could feel the tension under his fingers as he slowly massaged them in circles, lathering the soap-root between his follicles.  
He imagined.

_John standing in front of him, looking up at the taller cat, hands on each side of his head, stroking him, massaging him._

_“Sherlock, you are so beautiful.”_

_No one ever told him he was beautiful._

_“You hair at dusk is the color of the deepest, darkest cavern, like you swallow all the light, but then in the sun there are flecks of cold and red and it looks like you shine from within.”  
John would lean into him and kiss him, softly and chaste at first. He would let his lean, rough tongue run along Sherlock's mouth, that was slightly open to the ministrations._

Sherlock's cock twitched.

He moved his hands to his ears, cupping the shell as he carefully rubbed the short, deep black hairs that ended in light gray tufts. 

_John's hands wandered to his ears as he leaned in, pressing his short body against him, eyes fixed on Sherlock's, carefully pulling on the sensitive appendages.  
Sherlock whined under his breath, and John ran his hands over the silky shells, grinding his body against him, belying his apparent impatience. _

Sherlock sighed

His hands moved down to his face, mimicking the soft touch of his lover, circling his cheek bones once, twice, then moving over the overly sensitive patch of his whiskers towards his mouth, his chin, then his nose and up again, tracing around his eyes. 

Slow.  
Patient.  
Soft. 

Sherlock snorted as the bitter taste of the soap crept into his mouth and he got to his knees, dunking his head under cold water, jumping at the freezing sensation.  
It felt like life itself.

He held himself under the stream as long as he could, letting the current wash away the soap, then he came up with a gasp, pushing his hair back.

Cold.

Sherlock shivered and pushed the water from his body using his hands, eyes instinctively turning towards the sky.

Where were the rays of the sun, the sole reason he had chosen this patch for washing?

Then he saw them. 

Sherlock froze. 

His eyes grew bigger while his brain tried to comprehend....

_What...._

 

The spaceships were hovering above him, like fat, lazy insects in the sky, their size suggesting that they were near, but in truth so very far away. 

Sherlock swallowed, panic and _fear_ rolling over him.

The Darkness.  
It was back. 

And then he heard the horn. 

 

Sherlock was running back through the woods, hands stretched far in front of him to keep the low-hanging branches from slicing into his eyes, panting hard.

His mind was running in circles, a cold clump of fear in the pit of the stomach at the knowledge that the Darkness was back, just like the elders had told in their stories, just like it had been passed down through generations.  
Every five hundred or so years the Gods would abandon them or hide their faces, and there was great sorrow and loss to the community.

And it had returned. 

John.

The sound of the horn continued to resonate throughout the jungle, a sound that reverberated through his bones, warning everyone of the tribe to hide in the tunnels. 

For a moment Sherlock considered going straight to the ancient hiding place, just like it was drilled into them since they were small kittens - _when you hear the horn, you drop everything and go straight for the sacred tunnels. You do not take anything with you. You do not search for your Mother or Siblings or lovers. You go. There you wait. The others will find their own way._

No.

_John_

Sherlock forced his feet to run faster, ducking to escape some of the branches that lashed at his body, riddling it with red marks or pulling at his fur, ripping patches of it bald. 

 

He found them halfway from the village towards the tunnels, John stabilizing Mary as she held her ballooning stomach in front of her, panting in fear. Quickly Sherlock took her other arm over his shoulder, and they dragged her along between them, almost lifting the white cat between them off her feet. 

“Hamish....where is Hamish...” Mary continued to whine as her fingers dug painfully into Sherlock's fur on his back, and he hissed at her question.  
His eyes shot over to John, who was staring back at him, and then between clenched teeth the healer soothed his mate as he tried to walk a little faster, dragging her along. 

“I will go find him, we're almost there, just wait one more moment....”

 

They reached the entrance, a hole in the ground hid between bushes, Lestrade standing at the tunnels to help his tribe members down onto the ladder and the darkness below. John passed Mary on to him, but she turned and clung to his arm, whining under he breath, her whole body shaking.

“Don't go.”

John nodded at her and placed a small kiss on her tear-riddled cheek. 

“I will find him.”

He let her go and turned, another nod and the stare of sad, blue eyes back at Sherlock and then John ran back the way they had come.  
Sherlock did not hesitate a single seconds to make his way behind his lover. 

He caught up quickly with John who had been slowed down by terrified members of the clan that fled to the tunnels themselves, calling Hamish's name over and over.  
Sherlock grabbed the blond cats arm and turned him around, facing him.

“I met him this morning at the cold stream, John. He asked me to take him to the forbidden city.”

John's eyes grew wide in understanding, and he cursed under his breath.

“Go to the tunnels, Sherlock, I will be back with Hamish in no-time.”

Sherlock took a long look at John.

“No. You go to Mary, I will find him.”

And Sherlock turned and ran, straight into the woods. 

 

It had gotten darker, the large vessels blocking out most of the suns rays now, but Sherlock was used to finding his ways through the thicket at night, and he managed to do it almost silently.  
He could hear John following through the woods behind him, much less used to running in the thicket than Sherlock, twigs snapping in his wake. 

Sherlock snorted at the blond cat, considering slowling, knowing it would not help their cause.

He just hoped, with all the racket that John behind him made, that they would have at least two circles of the sun before the Dark came down to the planet from their spaceships.

Gods, he hoped that they had enough time. 

Sherlock focused behind him once more, his ears turning backwards to catch any sound that his lover would make....

There was nothing. 

Complete silence. 

Sherlock continued to run for a short while, then he halted, aware that if John had fallen he would by now be back up and making some kind of noise.  
Anything. 

But there was nothing. 

At all. 

Sherlock crouched down low to the ground, his ears perked up and continuously tilting into another direction in hope to catch a sound.  
Of course there were the usual tumult of the forest around them, but even that had quieted considerably at the unexpected dusk mid-morning. 

Sherlock strained to listen.

Nothing. 

With a curse mumbled under his breath he made his way back from where he had come from, staying close to the ground, his tails puffed in anxiety.  
He did not dare to call John's name, for who knew how the Darkness found their victims.  
He fought down the idea that maybe they were here already and caught John, but no, that was not possible, it was too early, didn't the legends talk about a little more time?

They needed more time.

And then he saw him.

Sherlock's mouth fell open and he suppressed a whine that was bubbling up in his throat. 

Too late. 

John was caught in a net, suspended about 2 meters above the ground, body limp in the silvery contraption. He looked so very fragile. Sherlock hoped he was not dead.  
He was surrouned by two silver blocks that were hovering in the air like birds, mounted by dark creatures, so dark that they seemed to swallow up the light. 

And the last thing Sherlock remembered was that one of the creatures turned towards him and then his vision exploded in a million silver stars, and he was falling, falling....

And then he knew no more.


	3. A spaceship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before this chapter I need to make clear that the cats have no technology and are not (usually) exposed to it.  
> But for the sake of my sanity of describing a pirate-spaceship with medical scanning equipemnt and a highly evolved computer and translation system....yeah. No.   
> Not going there. 
> 
> Enjoy. Some fluff and then angst.

Sherlock woke, dazzed and slightly confused, if not too much so.

He was warm.  
That was nice. 

He stretched lazily and uncurled, bumping against something soft beside him.

“Ow.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled.  
It was John. 

“Hey John.”

“Hey Sherlock.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm not really sure.”

Sherlock smiled. 

John smiled.

They laid back, side by side, faces turned towards the sun to catch the light. 

There was nothing better than napping in the sun. 

Nothing. 

At least nor for a cat. 

John shifted besides him, and there was something....something. 

“I think this may be some sort of... halluzination, Sherlock.”

Sherlock yawned and shifted, relishing the hot rays of the sun, heating his core. 

“I know.”

Too much to think about.  
Rather nap. 

John folded himself over, curling his body along the taller, black cat, his tail gliding along Sherlock's leg and hooking itself under it.He could feel John's heartbeat against his own chest, could feel the blonde snuggle against him, warm limbs and fur sliding along his skin. 

Sherlock smiled. 

“I have been thinking about you all day.  
About mating with you.”

John laughed, cuddling closer, stroking fur with open hands.

“Oh, by the Gods, Sherlock, me too!”

Sherlock grinned, letting his fingers run along his lovers side, nipping at his neck.

“How is Mary doing?”

John kissed Sherlock's curly forehead, running his fingers through the tangled mane, removing bits and pieces of trees.

“She is getting SOOO big! I love the way she waddles, but I have been missing my lean, tall lover.”

John shimmied himself down along Sherlock's body and leaned in, rasping his rough tongue along Sherlock's whiskers, then playing along the black cats lips that were parted, but not yet open. 

“We have time now....”

Sherlock blinked.

“I guess we do....”

He opened his mouth and kissed his lover, _John_ , warm tongues gliding against each other, hands running up and down sun-warmed bodies.

This was nice.

John straddled Sherlock, wrapping his legs along the lean, sinewy hips of the skinnier cat, Sherlock's cock twitching when John dragged his soft, furry butt along it. 

Sherlock purred. 

John nibbled on his sensitive upper lip and let his hands run along the short, silver-dappled black fur covering Sherlock's chest down to his sides, rubbing his flanks.

Sherlock rasped his own tongue along John's neck and then nipped him just below the clavicle, making the cat above him jump.  
He looked up to see if he had hurt, if he had gone too far.  
The flash of the teeth, the warmth in John's eyes proofed the opposite and it made him want to bite and groom and scratch and _fuck_.

John undulated his hips.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled, softly, looking up at his lover.

It was getting darker. 

Fuzzier.

“I know John.”

Something was wrong.

“Please....”

Sherlock's eyes grew bigger as John continued to carress him while he seemingly started to dissapear, to leave.

“Don't leave me, John.”

John leaned in a final time, giving him one more, gentle kiss, eyes sad.

“I would never leave you, Sherlock.”

And then he was gone.

Sherlock was alone. 

It turned darker and darker. 

And then the forest around him started to crowd him.

“JOHN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

Sherlock woke. 

It happened slowly, painfully, as if he were trapped in grease, the deep darkness not wanting to let him go.  
His whole body hurt.  
His eyes were glued together as he tried to open them, and he felt one of his arms trapped around his body, pressed hard against him.  
The black cat shuffled and managed to get one hand up to his face, rubbing it, managing to get his eyes to open. 

Darkness.

He whined and shifted, and then he noticed that he was in fact surrounded by quiet sounds all around him, beings of all kind waking and proclaiming their discomforst in a low, questioning way.

Sherlock focused on himself, trying to move, his head painfully cradled against his chest and his ass slightly higher in the air than his face, curling his tail overhead. 

Not. Good.

He shifted and grabbed on to the fabric surrounding him and noted it to indeed be a sort of a net, however finelly meshed. He could not push his fingers through it.  
Sherlock shot out his claws into the fabric, hoping it would slice and release him, giving him a way to escape.  
The chance had however been slight, and, of course, it didn't work.  
However his claws were thin enough to poke through the netting, and Sherlock rocked himself foreward until he could get into a sitting position within the net. 

Sherlock took a deep breath and collected himself, wondering what to do next. 

Then something happened. 

There was a rattling sound above him, Sherlock's ears instinctively turning upwards, scanning the area. He noted now that it was, in fact, not completely dark around him, and he could a thick, solid chain leading from where the net was closed above him all the way up, into the darkness once more. 

The chain was set in motion, his own confinement swaying slightly and then moved stuttering into one direction. Sherlock realized that it was some kind of automated system, something set up to take him exactly where he needed to go.  
He whined, his ears plastering down onto his head and he curled himself smaller, as if the rules of the jungle at home could in any way profit him here.

He was just in front of a grey door that opened without a sound, and then he was swallowed by the entrance, the door closing behind him. 

He whined in fright and tried to move, somehow, away from the light that was coming towards him, a too bright white that looked like it would burn his skin if it touched him. He could not escape, and then it ran over him slowly, small rattling and beeping sounds coming from above him as traced his body.  
Sherlock's ears were flat on his head and he shivered almost silently, forcing his eyes open to take in his surrounding. He was in a small, grey room, and once he stopped focusing on the machinery that was scanning him he saw a stange being in the corner, turned away from him.  
It was leaning over an array of blinking lights embedded within a grey console, staring intently at a sceen while pushing buttons.

Sherlock stared.

The Being was a dirty grey color, covered in hard scales that seemed the consistency of stones, but it moved with a fluent ease that scared the cat.  
His hands fisted around the silver strands he was clinging to, and Sherlock leaned towards the Creature, trying to lift himself from the curled postion he was caught in. 

“Who are you?”  
His voice was hoarse, maybe due to the sedation that had been used, probably because of the fear he felt confronting this scary... _thing_. 

However, the Creature did not move at the sound, and then the light stopped, and the chain was once again set in motion. 

Another door. 

He was swallowed up once more. 

 

This time he was faced with a Creature and he insctinctively drew back and hissed, ears plasted to his head, his tail fluffed up large. So close he could see the deep red of it's eyes and the long snout that grew out of it's face, it's mouth covered in three rows of razorsharp teeth as he opeened it.  
The being started hissing at him, and with a two seconds delay a mechanical, wheezing question came from the little box sitting next to it. 

“You are hereby informed that you are now property of the Empire.”

The Creature moved in towards Sherlock, whose hissing now turned into an infuriated spitting sound as the large, grey, scaly hand attached a silver tag on the outside of his net. 

It pulled away, leaving the cat shivering, and it spoke again, through the translater with a slight delay. 

“Your medical scan has shown no exessive internal or external damage, but should we be aware of any allergies or medical afflitions it may not have picked up?”

It stopped talking, and Sherlock just stared at it, eyes large, whiskers flat and shivering.

“No? Fine then. There will be another scan upon arrival on the mothership, if there is anything else let us know then.”

Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he realized that he was about to be send on. 

“Wait, no, where am I? Where is John? I need to....”

“Any questions will be answered at another time.”

With a flick on the lever his net was set in motion again, and Sherlock snarled in anger at the Being who was so unaffected on what it did to him. 

 

The chain above him moved him into a long corridor, and a couple of empty hooks in front of him he could see another cat curled in it's sliver prison, hands curled over its head.  
It looked like one of his tribe, maybe Mike, but he could not be sure.  
He continued to move on, every now and then the chain stopped for several minutes seemingly without a cause, and then it started again all of the sudden, swaying his net, making Sherlock ever so slightly queasy. 

He had realized at this point that there was nothing he could do until he was at his destination, so the best thing to do at this point in time was to collect information. 

The black cat forced himself once more to look around, but this time apart from the matt grey walls lined with doors, seemingly forever, there was nothing else to be seen. His net was suspended in the middle of he corridor which was wider than his body was tall, and there was quite a bit of space around him. 

There was nothing he could reach. 

The next thing he could do was figure out _where_ the hell he was.  
The whole place was so foreign and completely alien to the cat, that the loads of new information almost smothered his brain. 

But Sherlock knew one thing for sure.  
He had seen similar things like the boxes that used to translate and the cold, grey and black metals that were so different than anything they had on their world. 

The forbidden city.

Sherlock had found the ruin of the Space-port was when he was just old enough to explore the woods on his own, when his brother had allowed him days to stay away instead of just hours.  
The impressions it had left on him reminded him of where he was now.  
Grey Metals.  
Wires.  
Signs etched into surfaces, everywhere, black on lighter ground, like worms etching overs stone.

Darkness.

Sherlock was ripped out of his thoughts as the chain once more set in motion.  
He blinked, and the cat in the net in front of him dissapeared around a corner, and he could hear.... _something_.

They went through a new set of doors and came out into a large hall filled with glass cages of different sizes, and even though the hall should be filled with their sounds it was almost too quiet, the rattling of chains and low beeping in the backgrounds the only noises he could hear. 

But there were more of the Creatures.  
Many more.

Sherlock tried to curl into himself as if they would not see him, but he moved on, passing a cage that held three Wolves from the North, snarling at him silently, the next one birds, several dozens of different types, then a horned lizard.... And then there was his people.

Cats. 

His net stopped in front of the cage, and then three of the Creatures surrounded him, and he let out a scream that turned into a long hiss. He was lowered to the ground and the fabric around him loosened, and then a large pole was pressed against his neck.  
Sherlock hissed, his back pressing up into a curve, his tail swishing hard from side to side, and then the pole touched his skin and a silver band wrapped itself around his neck, locking in tightly.  
His arms flew up to explore the new thing that laid pressure on his throat and then he was grabbed and lifted, his arms pulled foreward and two more rings were pressed upon him with the machine. 

Sherlock's claws were trying to cut through the hard material of the Creatures scales, but he did not leave as much as a scratch and he screamed in frustration. 

He was dangled upside down, his ankles receiving two more manacles, and then he was dropped to the floor where he lay, shivering.  
One of the Beings stepped up to the glass-cage in front of them, pressing his hand against the slick surface and a door opened in the seemingly smooth material. 

He was grabbed by his shoulder and pulled up, then hauled foreward and thrown into the cell. 

The door closed behind him, and the very next moment someone crouched next to him, warm hands touching his back and his head.  
Sherlock hissed and pulled away, scrambling to his knees, trying to see get away from any more unwanted touches...

It was John.  
Sweet, wonderful, loving John. 

Sherlock let out a sob and John crouched down next to him and held him in his arms, cradling the black cat, soothing him with his low voice, licking the side of his face, swaying slightly as one would a kitten.

Sherlock would not stop shivering.

But John just held him. 

For a very long time.


	4. Remember....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is quite a bit of angst in this chapter, also for confined spaces cause that is one of my pet peeves.   
> Otherwise, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> x

Horror.

Pure and simple.

Sherlock head was burrowed deep into John's neck, breathing fast and deep.  
Breathing.  
Focusing.

It took him a moment to get back to his senses, but when he did he shot up, eyes scanning his surrounding.   
“Is Hamish here?”

John stroked and kissed Sherlock, retreating into a kneeling position next to him.  
“Not yet. But there are still prisoners coming in all the time, from everywhere. He might still be out there.”

Sherlock's gaze stopped on John's hands that were fisted tightly on his own black fur, and he quickly scrambled to turn towards his lover, leaning in to groom John's whiskers and face, tasting salt and dirt under his tongue.   
John relaxed under the ministrations, if just for a short moment, and it was enough for Sherlock to stop and look around once more, knowing that his lover was soothed and knew he was there. 

He counted 15 Cats in the enclosure with them. 

No one from their own tribes, the Gods be thanked. 

There were some types that he had never seen before, one with a short, curly tail, three that were colored in soft pink with long, silky fur. They were from the Pink Valley, and he had heard of them only in stories by travelers. 

And all of the prisoners were seemingly strong, healthy adults and young adults. 

No children.  
No elders. 

He flinched at a sharp, high-pitched sound that filled the cage, instinctively crowding against John who lay his arms around him.

“Attention, Attention.”

The crackling, static voice was Cat, but with a strange accent.

“Please note that you are now Property of the Empire.   
You will be moved to a shipping containment, please now move towards the red light and touch the wall. You will have the choice to partner with someone for the journey, please make this decision now.”

The glass behind them turned from see-through into a dark red, the same thing happening along the row of glass cubes around them. And then Sherlock noted the large amount of Creatures just outside their confinement, 5 making their way towards them.

The voice hissed back into existence all around them.

“If you do not comply with our orders, you will be punished.”

A bolt of pain sprang up within Sherlock, featured from the tight silver manacles around his ankles, wrists and neck, sending electrical currents through his body, havocking pain in ways he had never felt before. 

He heard screams and whines around him and realized that he was not the only one being shocked. 

Then it suddenly stopped. 

“Place your hand on the red surface. You have five seconds to comply before you will get another shock.”

Sherlock had no idea how long five seconds were, but the jolt still lingered painfully in his bones, and he and John got to their feet helping each other, quickly touching the slightly warm, red material.   
With a small beep a bright electrical binding jumped up between the bracelet and the wall, bonding the cats to it. Sherlock's tail puffed up even more as he realized that he could not remove the manacle from the wall before him, and his hand gripped John's even tighter, looking into the large, blown-up pupils of the blonde cat. 

There were screams as the five seconds were apparently over, and they lasted much longer, the black cat staring at the three cats that had not made it or did not want to, shivering on the floor, howling as he could see white sparks jumping along their skin.

“Long-term and repeated shocks are not recommended, please comply to any orders given to you from this point.”

The guards that had entered the cell dragged the remaining cats to the wall, their bindings connecting with a loud sound. 

The others two Creatures stepped up to two cats, just next to Sherlock and hissed at them.

The translation set in with a short delay.

“Alone or with a partner?” 

One of the cats just stared at the much taller, imposing Being, the other growled and clawed at the guard, the other hand firmly connected to the wall.   
He was shocked within an instant and he let out a scream that Sherlock would not forget until the end of his life. He crumbled under the shocks that jumped over his skin, shivering, hanging attached, and it did not seem to end. 

John gave Sherlock a tug with the fingers that connected them, claws digging painfully into the back of his hand, pulling him back to his lover. 

John.

“Together, Sherlock. You hear me? Together.”

John's eyes were big and pleading, his mouth set in a grim line.

“And promise me you won't fight.”

Another scream. 

Another tug at his hand, another painful squeeze.

“PROMISE ME!”

“Yes.” Sherlock's voice was clear. 

It felt like it belonged to someone else.

“Together, John. Together.”

They had not paid attention to the others for that short moment, and then a Creature stepped up and focused on Sherlock. His fur puffed up even further at the hissing so close to him.

“Together or with a partner?”

Squeeze.

“Partner. John is my....partner.”

He hated that he was almost panting in fear at the thought that they could be separated.

And then the walls around them swallowed both of them up, the cage melting around them like a dark, red coffin just to clear up the moment they were encased in a small box of their own.   
The moment the material had fully surrounded them their hands were released, and John grabbed Sherlock immediately and pulled him close as the guard outside touched their new confinement.

A coffin, it was a bloody see-through coffin. 

Sherlock started to pant, his old fear of enclosed spaces and no place to run crashing over him, clawing at his brain, blurring his vision.  
The box tilted backwards and Sherlock whined, the cats forced to stabilize themselves until it came to a resting position on the floor, both of them now laying on their sides after the 90 degree turn.

Sherlock tried to turn around, tried to see if he could move somewhere else and _get out_ but they were locked together into a box that was hardly wider or taller than both of them laying next to each other, comfortably.  
It was so narrow he would not even be able to sit up. 

Sherlock sobbed in horror. 

He felt John moving against him, holding him close, pulling him closer. 

And then the box moved. 

Sherlock curled into himself and then John tugged against him from behind, wrapping his warm body around him, shorter though he was, his tail pressing tightly against Sherlock's stomach. 

“John..... _John...._ ”

Sherlock was panting and shivering now, eyes wide and fixated as the box next to him, containing a single cat moved towards them and slotted against the side of them, turning the clear surface red once more. 

“I need to get out, John.”

“Sherlock....”

“I NEED to get OUT...OUT! OUT!”

Sherlock knew he was having a panic attack, he knew it but could not do anything against it, and his body started to shiver and twist, little involuntary jerky movements he could not stop, not suppress as his hands scrambled along the slick, smooth surface. 

“Shhhhhh......”

John twisted himself around Sherlock's body until he rested in his arms, pulling his face towards his own, starting to groom him with small, measured licks. 

 

There was no warning as the voice began to speak, seemingly from above their heads. 

“Prisoner, you seem to be experiencing a panic attack, please note that if you do not control this condition within five minutes, we shall sedate you for the rest of the journey. Please note that long-term affects can not be ruled out.”

 

John pulled him close, forcing Sherlock to look at him, shivering and panting.

“Sherlock. You are NOT going to leave me alone in here. Do you hear? Calm down!”

There was a fire in John's eyes that Sherlock knew, but it was overpowered by the pleading in his eyes, the need to get his partner to calm for him.

“John.”

“Sherlock. Please. Don't leave me.”

Sherlock tried to calm, he really did, his mouth opening as he started to pant, the horror of being confined overwhelming. His body gave another jerk and his tail touched the side of their cage, and he _knew_ that he could go nowhere. 

At all. 

Sherlock mewled. 

John leaned in, his forehead touching that of his partner, his one hand stroking along the large, sensitive shells of his black, shivering ears, the other pulling his lover closer against him, so both bodies touched from head to toe, together. 

“I need you to calm down, Sherlock. Tell me about home. Tell me about the first time we met. Talk to me, Sherlock.”

John's eyes were large, pleading. 

“Talk to me.”

Sherlock whined. 

“I don't....”

“Just tell me about the first time we met, Sherlock, the first time you saw me. What did you think of me?”

“I thought you were a brat.” His answer was quick, almost instantaneous. 

John snorted, laughed for a second at the surprising confession.

“Why?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. 

Zoomed back into the past, into another time, to another place.

 

Safer.

 

Warm.

Free.

 

The day he had met John was the day the day Mycroft and him had joined the tribe. 

It had been a sunny day, the time of the moons when the flitter-faeries were plentiful in the valley. 

Sherlock and Mycroft had been walking for many of the 3rd moon cycle, long enough for Sherlock to turn from a child into a gangly teenager who followed his elder brother with a look disdain on his face. 

In their own clan had been destroyed, raided.....

They had.....

NO.

Sherlock shook his head, keening. 

John. 

First time he met John. 

Think, Sherlock. 

Focus. 

They had walked into the tribe, hungry and tired of walking, suspicious and hurting. 

The brothers has been welcomed to the clan with open arms. 

Sherlock had stood next to Mycroft, slightly smaller and thinner than his elder, but both cats well above the average height compared to the tribe, which contained smaller creatures with a tendency of blonde, uni-colored hair. 

Sherlock had stood in the back, scanning the small crowd of curious cats surrounding him, and of course he had noticed John, about the same age as his brother at the time, just an adult and sleek and dashing, hair shining like honey in the sun, his arm circled around a petite brown cat which had never left his side. 

“Why did you think I was a brat?” John's voice brought him back to his lover who was clinging tightly to him, grooming his face with his raspy tongue, massaging him with the short, deep ministrations.

“They called you a 3-Cat-Lover at the time. Because you always had some sort of love-affair on the go, and then there was the one that was coming and the one that was going. You were too handsome for your own good.”

Sherlock felt himself calm, if just a little, at being reminded....

John snorted a huffed laugh and licked Sherlock's eyebrows. 

“I was young and just was accepted to become the healer of the clan. Life was good.”

“You were a little brat, and you know it.”

John snuggled closer, held on tighter.

“Tell me about when you first wanted me.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, digging his hands into the short, silky fur of his John. 

Remembering.

Remembering John. 

It had been the first time they had been alone.

Soon after they arrived, Sherlock had taken to wandering the woods, learning the territory, driving Mycroft crazy by just leaving the clan for days on end without telling anyone.

That day he had found the creek with the blue stones, the cold stream that most cats avoided, his favorite bathing spot from that day on.   
Sherlock had removed the belt he had worn that day and taken to the water, allowing the freezing wet to cleanse his skin and mind.

“It was the day you caught me bathing.”

The memory made him want to purr. And he almost did. Almost.   
John hugged him, his voice smooth and satisfying, close to his ear. 

“I remember that day. I watched you.”

Sherlock whined and snuggled closer, pulling John up to him as he continued, in his smooth voice.   
“You were gorgeous, the water turning your fur deep black and shiny. You had such a strange ritual of washing, I had never seen before. You were so exotic. ”

Sherlock growled, then took a deep breath.

“I knew you were watching me.”

“No you didn't!”

He had not in the beginning. But Sherlock loved the sun, loved the difference from coming out of the cold into the warmth, and John's shadow had taken a small part of his sun away, just on his left shoulder-blade.   
Of course he had noticed. 

“I liked that you were watching me.”

Sherlock huffed and pulled John closer, burrowing his head into the blonde curls on the smaller cats head, smelling sun and dust and herbs.

John.

He was just about to continue as the box shifted hard, sliding the two entwined cats foreward on the slippery surface, then it came to a halt. 

The hissing voice surrounded them once more.

“Traveling will take three weeks, if you are showing exceeding signs of distress you will be sedated. Please note that this option carries a risk and should not be chosen. Thank you.”

John pulled Sherlock closer, grooming his tangled curls, winding his legs around his hips.

“Please. Don't leave me alone here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked. 

“I won't, John. Together. Until the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> x
> 
>  
> 
> So I am trying a new writing style, let me know what you think....


	5. Destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is angst and panic in this chapter, please be aware when continuing. 
> 
> I am sorry for the slow updates, but my life has been turned upside down recently, and my creative juices were just not flowing. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> x

The box they lay in was quiet for a moment, and then it shifted once more, pulling an involuntary whine from Sherlock's lips. 

Then it fell. 

This time both Sherlock and John meowed in fright as it seemed that they were falling forever into empty space, the dark surface around them not revealing in any way what was happening. 

Then the box slowed and stopped. 

Sherlock panted in fear as they came to a halt once more, smelling the sharp sting of urine and feeling the wetness from where he had sprayed, horrified and embarrassed on how he lost total control of his body. He shifted, but John pulled him closer, mewling in fright, and Sherlock could feel where John had dug his claws into his back. 

“Don't let me go!”

He didn't.

They lay, shivering, and then the box shifted again, once, twice, and then it was still. 

All of the sudden the red-tainted walls surrounding them cleared, giving them the illusion of free space all around them.   
Sherlock turned his face up as there was more light, and then he could not stop staring. 

They were in a huge hall with many thousands, tens of thousands boxes containing different beings, and they had been placed somewhere close to the middle, explaining the drop they had gone through. 

He could see other cats above him, contained in their single and double cells, but when he turned and twisted, or just looked beneath him, there were creatures he had never even imagined in his deepest dreams or nightmares. Just below him there was something..... it was a pearly gray color, the exoskeleton continuously shifting, it's 12 long legs wandering along the surface that held it captive.   
What seemed to be the head-end had turned up towards them, the size of the cats miniscule in comparison with the great Beast.

So close and so fear-evoking, yes also a prisoner of the Creatures.

It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time. 

John shifted beside him, eyes large in wonder as well, trails of drying tears glittering on his furry cheeks.

“John.” Sherlock was pulled back to his own self, to his lover, the distress on John's face so very _wrong_ and he leaned down and licked him, licked at the salt of the tears, anger bubbling up in him at this whole situation.  
The blonde gave a short purr in answer to the ministrations of the dark cat, and they snuggled for a moment.

The sharp sting of urine rose into both their sensitive noses, and John made a soft noise, scanning Sherlock as he moved back just a hand-span. “Sherlock, are you all right?”

Sherlock nodded, embarrassed, and twisted onto his back, still shivering a little.. 

“I am sorry John. I sprayed like a kitten when we dropped. I couldn't....”  
“It's fine, Sherlock, I am not mad at you!” He leaned in to give Sherlock a couple of comforting licks.“I can clean you....”  
John was rumbling, deep in chest, a soothing sound, and the blonde cat gave Sherlock another warming hug, snuffling into his fur on his neck. 

The walls around them turned red for a moment, like a flash, and then the dark, mechanical voice spoke.

Sherlock's hair puffed out, he pulled John in, closer, as if their embrace could save them from what was happening to them.

_“You are at your final destination for travel.”_

There was no one. Just the voice.   
And it talked Cat.

How was that possible?

_“Please listen closely for your travel comfort. Above your head, you will see color-distinguished lights. They contain your source of food and water and will be refilled as required. You are to eat your nourishment to remain at strength and hydrated. Non-compliance to this rule will not be tolerated.”_

They looked around and saw the two squares lighting up at their heads end of the long cell, the same dark red they came to expect, and Sherlock looked at John, questioningly.   
He remembered the way his bindings had connected to the red surface too well.  
If he now was bound as well, he would....

He would....

John noted the shallow pants of Sherlock and how his eyes had widened in rising panic, and quickly he leaned forward, pressing his palm against the red square closer to him. 

It gave a slight hiss, and then John pulled his hand back as a small box melted out of the surface, stopping in front of the blonde cat. 

Both cats stared at the smaller box, dumbfounded. 

Then Sherlock received a shock.

He convulsed into the sudden, unexpected pain, his jaw clenching down, little sparks flying of his fur. 

John, who had still been connected to Sherlock, got a brief shock just from the energy, and he was thrown back and away, landing with a soft thud in the other corner. 

“STOP! STOP IT, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO HIM?!”

He scrambled back, but could not touch, hands hovering over the black cat's convulsing body. 

Then the shocks stopped.

_“Please touch the darkened tile. Long-term and repeated shocks are not recommended, please comply to any orders given to you from this point.”_

Shivering Sherlock leaned forward and touched the remaining red tile, and curled into himself as the small box containing the food was pushed towards him.

John was next to him in a second, letting his hands run over the black fur, and Sherlock whined and pulled back, his voice hardly more than a whisper: “Just give me a moment, John, I need to breathe. Just for a moment.”

_“To keep your space clean, there are further provisions we have taken. Please touch the darkened tile to your feet.”_

Two more red squares lit up, this time on the opposite end of their cell, red and glooming.   
This time both cats scrambled to comply, and the containers hissed out towards them.   
Empty. 

_“Use these containers for waste only. When you are done expelling any bodily matter , place the box back into the wall. Please place them back into their origin for demonstration purposes now.”_

There was again, a dark red square where the small containers had originated from, and Sherlock picked up the surprisingly light box and pressed it against the red square on the wall. The two melted together, and then Sherlock could let go as the small box once more disappeared. 

Witchcraft. 

John did the same next to him, and then the boxes were gone, however the dark square remained.   
They would be able to find it at any time. 

“As you have already soiled the cell, we shall now demonstrate the cleaning procedure in such a case.”

Sherlock's eyes grew huge. 

“John...” he whispered and then the cell around him melted, his lower body and parts of the cell were engulfed by the see-through material, turning red one more, sliding around him, caging the darker cat's lower body. 

Sherlock mewled, staring at his chest, stuck half-way in a red blob.  
There was a sharp, warm pressure and then a cool pull of what he later found out was vacuum.

Then the red surface melted down once more, disappearing back into the floor, leaving nothing in their wake.

_“Please note the next time you soil your cell, you will be shocked. Use the containers provided. Long-term and repeated shocks are not recommended, please comply to any orders given to you from this point.”_

And that was it. 

John scrambled towards Sherlock and held him tight, a low, purring sound vibrating his chest.   
Sherlock was shivering, and could not stop staring at his lower body.

The sharp smell of urine as gone, replaced by a clean smell of fresh-cut grass. 

His hair however....

The area that he had been cleansed, his fur was standing from the tips to the roots, as if separately groomed to stand on end. 

He looked ridiculous.

Sherlock freed his hands from John's embrace and patted at the fluffy strands, trying to ease them down, finding the areas that had been wet with his own urine were fully dry and clean.   
There was something like hysteria rising within him, dark and scary, and his patting became faster, more frantic. 

John's eyes followed his, and then the blond cat pulled in his air with a whistle.   
Sherlock's eyes flicked up to his lover's face, and found the other grinning back at him, gaze wandering from his flat-haired chest to his puffed-up tummy, legs and tail.   
He bent down and let his hands run along the black pelt, his blonde-white fur a stark contrast.   
Then John started to giggle. 

“Oh, Sherlock, you are so soft!”

Sherlock growled. 

“It's not funny, John!” 

But John leaned in and burrowed his head in the fluffy fur of Sherlock's stomach, letting his hands run over the area where the hair had been inside the cleansing area, both cats watching as his hands disappeared in the fluffed-up fur. 

And then John laughed.

Sherlock huffed and pushed himself up, knocking his head at the top when he realized he could not fully sit upright, just in an crouched position, and he pulled himself away, pushing at the blonde to get off of him. 

“It's not funny! I was SCARED!”

He felt th sting of tears prick in the corner of his eyes.   
He was shaking, the panic still bubbling so close to his surface. 

John had rolled onto his back, tears streaming from his eyes and howling in laughter.   
He shook his head, hand flying to his mouth, turning towards Sherlock who sat, pouting, in the corner. 

“Look at yourself, Sherlock. You were eaten by a red blob of a fucking spaceship, and now you are so .... _pretty_!”

And he went back into a fit of laughter, holding his sides. 

Sherlock looked down himself, and then he saw his tail, double its normal size and silky to the touch, the fur extremely shiny.

The black cat shivered in anger and residing shock of the previous treatments, heavily slumping back against the wall, watching how John was curled up on the floor, little pink tongue visible as he was panting, eyes squeezed shut as he huffed and giggled.

And all of the sudden Sherlock realizing how in all of this, in this whole mess of being abducted, handled like objects, like beings without any own will, with all of their future dark and fully out of their control, Sherlock looking like a puffed-up, silky beauty had been enough to tip to John over the edge. 

It was His sort of panic. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and he allowed the panic and hysteria to bubble up inside him as well, fat teardrops creeping out from under long lashes and making his way down his face, falling silently from the tip of his chin, and then he pushed himself off the wall and cuddled up against the shivering blonde, black fingers digging deep into the slightly coarse fur of his lover, and John hugged him right back, pulling him in.

 

And Sherlock wept silently, realizing that laughter would be hard to come by in whatever lay ahead of them.

 

And John laughed for a long time.


End file.
